


sea foam cresting on the wet cold sand

by kaminoko_x



Category: Assassination Classroom
Genre: Future Fic, Gen, beware purple prose
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-01
Updated: 2017-06-01
Packaged: 2018-11-07 15:32:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11061909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaminoko_x/pseuds/kaminoko_x
Summary: His name means 'water's edge'. // Nagisa's life in 99 sentences





	sea foam cresting on the wet cold sand

**Author's Note:**

> At the time I first posted this on ff.net, there were only 6 Assassination Classroom fics. Seriously.  
> And now the fandom has grown, it's been cool to watch it happen!
> 
> I've also been informed that Nagisa actually translates to 'beach'. This is kind of old fic- I think at the time I wrote it, I handwaved the literal meaning and used one of the secondary meanings offered by Google Translate so I could do purple prose things with it. Yeah.

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_**sea foam cresting on the wet cold sand** _

...

(His name means 'water's edge'.)

...

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.

.

...

_I am born in ashes, forged in destruction, raised in ruin, alone in death._

...

Nagisa is born in the ashes of his mother's life. His first breath is his mother's last, as if she had given him all the life she had and kept none for herself, ever selfless, ever sacrificing, in a way only a mother can be. She dies with sigh, passing quietly like the barely-heard hiss of an extinguished candle.

Nagisa's father holds his child close in his grief, clutching the one thing he has left of his beloved wife- a son to hold her legacy, a son to carry their name. Carefully cradling the precious bundle, he stares down at the boy, uncertain. 潮田, _Shiota_ , written with the characters for _tide_ and _rice field_ , is their name, and while it is not particularly common, it is not special by any means. Even so, as he watches his son sleep in his arms, he thinks, ' _This one deserves more. This one deserves a beautiful name, a meaningful name.'_

So he writes the character 渚 on the hospital form, the shore of the ocean so vast and deep, the border between the comfort of certainty and the terrifying unknown, because the infant makes him feel small- _I have a child, I am a father, I-_. He calls the child _water's edge_ and thinks of reefs and tidepools and harbours- _May you be life and heart and home to all that love you._ He names the child _Nagisa_ and prays he will be as rich in life as the banks of a river, that he have dreams as far as the moon, that he will find love constant as the tide.

It is a good name, he thinks.

(He does not know how fitting his son's name is- Nagisa will be as dangerous as a riptide, treacherous as a salt marsh at night, death defying as a sheer cliff face rising hundreds of feet along a coast. Nagisa will be a killer, and his name will be a warning to those who dare to cross him.)

\--

Nagisa grows up a relatively happy child. His father works hard to provide for his son and brings him up as an upstanding member of society. Nagisa's hard working, polite, dutiful, observant, capable, and all around just a very nice boy. But for all his _niceness_ , there is one thing that his father is unable to rid him of, not that the poor man has even noticed it. There is a reason why such a nice boy is friends with someone like Akabane Karma.

(Nagisa, like several others in Class E, is actually smart enough to stay out of Class E. But every time that Karma gets violent with bullies, he has to clamp down on the urge to _beat those damn bastards into the ground_ , because while they deserve it, he isn't strong enough to help his friend. Besides, his father would be so disappointed in his perfect, polite, wonderful son if he became a delinquent.

Nagisa spends so much time stopping himself from punching pathetic dumbasses that he can't focus in class and his grades start dropping.)

And that ugly trait, that gift and curse rolled into one is something that Class E, the assassination classroom, begins to bring out. Because Nagisa's gift is killing intent and bloodlust like no other his age. He possesses so much potential it makes Irina shiver, Karasuma horrified, and Lovro _smile_. Nagisa could be a prodigy hitman, a genius of assassination and sabotage and espionage, and it is Korosensei that begins to shape him.

In the destruction of everything normal, Nagisa is made into something different, something more than just a nice 14 year old student. Here, in the creative strategies, in the determined practice and failed attempts, here Nagisa thrives, but it isn't until the end of the year that Korosensei's work is complete.

The final hammer stroke of Nagisa's forging is placed in two more kinds destruction- the decimation of the mountain their school called home, and the death of Korosensei. At the end of the year, Class E are true assassins, and Nagisa, who delivered the final blow, knows what it is to kill.

\--

Class E doesn't know what to do after killing their teacher. The money, of course, is nice, but they don't want to leave behind their assassination classroom. They are different from anyone else, and they can feel it in their hearts, in their bones, in every little mundane thing of everyday life. Class E isn't normal anymore, and they know it.

Life goes on anyways.

They splinter into different high schools, and a new Class 3E, not an assassination class this time, is formed. Everything is normal again, and Nagisa hates it. There is no sensei to kill, no end goal to achieve, there is nothing but the utter monotony of 'normal' life and Nagisa is going stir crazy. He throws himself into high school life, training harder, studying harder, working harder. He takes martial arts classes and keeps Karma out of trouble. Once, some punks try to mug him, but end up teaching him how to skateboard in apology. They're still somewhat scared of him, and he finds them both refreshing and annoyingly pathetic at the same time. Assassination classroom's reunions are the only bright spot in his life, because _here_ are the people who understand him, _here_ are the people who will not condemn him for missing their last year of middle school. None of them are quite the same as he is- they have found purposes and careers to pursue, but they understand how he feels and it's enough.

(Or is it? Nagisa dare not tell anyone of what he wants to do- he wants a target, a challenge, the thrill of the chase; he wants to kill and kill and _kill_ , and it doesn't really matter to him who his victims are. Once more he clamps down on his killer instinct, but this time channeling his energy into studies. No sense in letting his grades drop like middle school. Korosensei taught him better than that.)

Second year of high school, he lets a classmate bully him into joining the swimming club and in remembrance of Bitch-sensei, gets a music student to teach him a little bit of piano. Everything else is routine, rinse and repeat.

In April, Lovro comes for him. The man looks infinitely older now though it's been less than two years, his world-weary face more lined with something like tiredness . His piercing gaze, however, has not lost any of its intensity. Nagisa nods to him, and the hitman dealer nods back, then turns and walks away. Nagisa follows.

Lovro, of course, is there to recruit him. He offers Nagisa an opportunity- training and work rolled into one. Anyone else would say Lovro is trying to ruin his chance of a normal life, but for Nagisa, Lovro is offering salvation. He gives him a week to decide, but Nagisa already knows his answer.

_Yesyesyes, kami-sama, yes-!_

In the ruins of a normal life- in the ruining of others' lives, Nagisa finds purpose.

\--

Nagisa is 16 when he makes his first human kill, not particularly young in the world of hitmen, but young enough and skilled enough to gain a reputation. Lovro trains him to be more than an assassin- he's going to be the next hitman mediator one day, he knows. So he learns to be a hacker and a spy, an info broker and a body guard. He learns how to set up security details and routines, and then learns how to break them. When he crosses paths with Bitch-sensei again, she teaches him some more piano and random seduction techniques, and takes him out to coffee to chat in French and Arabic and Russian. They discuss his studies in the university that Lovro forced him to attend after he'd graduated from high school- he's working towards a degree in linguistics, with a side focus on psychology and criminology.

He's known by a score of different names in different languages- "призрак", "蜃景", "Draugen", but his most widely used and favorite is the closest to his real name: "Edge". He's known for the trail of slit throats he leaves behind, the bodies that wash up in the surf, and once, notoriously, a man killed in broad daylight on an open street that left the police scratching their heads.

Nagisa's quite delighted to have seen Bitch-sensei again. He'll have to brag to his friends, he thinks as he makes his way, laughing, to the meeting place for the assassination classroom reunion. It doesn't matter that he's _(born in ashes, forged in destruction, raised in ruin)_ a killer, because life's good.

\--

Happiness doesn't last. That is just one of the many lessons Nagisa has learned from the world of power, crime, and death he's stepped into.

The thing is, though, Nagisa's not happy, but he's not unhappy either. It's been a good life, but the years after he had retired have made him restless, constantly wishing for the adrenaline of a hit. His aging body, grown too old to be an assassin, makes him wistful and nostalgic. Nagisa would like to think he had known it was coming, but he knows that his younger self dreamed of eternal youth, of living in his prime forever. _'It doesn't matter',_ he thinks, _'It's not like I could have ever imagined it.'_

Because he really couldn't have. There is an ache in his chest that just won't let up, a weariness in his bones, an unsaid desire twisting in his veins, not urgent or fiery, but ever longing, never ceasing. There's regret and never-going-back, there's good times he wants to relive and memories unfading, there's watching the newest generation rise and fall again, seeing the names come and go and it's timeless in its own kind of way. There is just something about old age that he can't quite put into words. So he doesn't.

Retirement doesn't suit you at all, Karma had told him, and he believes it. Nagisa spent over twenty five years living like he was on top of the world, until the weight of the sky came crashing down and he could no longer fly, tattered wings exhausted.

("You're an old, old man," quoted Karma, smirking as they finished one of his favourite movies. It was about dreams and reality and ideas- everything that could break a person. "Filled with regret, waiting to die.")

Karma wasn't quite right though- he isn't all that regretful, honestly, but he is certainly waiting to die. Karma had just passed three months ago, age 95, a respected, retired, policeman-turned-instructor. Nagisa is the last of the assassination classroom now, each ex-student having been claimed by accidents and disease and old age over the years. He has trained his successor, has taken care of his affairs. He has no family left, and with Karma gone, no friends. What is truly surprising to him is how long he'd lasted despite his profession.

Nagisa has outlived them all and will die alone. His apprentice, now successor, will burn his body and scatter his ashes at his namesake; from the wet, cold sand, he'll be swept away from the water's edge with the sea foam. Nagisa is not scared- death had been his lady and companion for years. Welcoming her would be like greeting an old, old friend. When the time comes, he'll simply smile, take her hand, and walk off into the end.

...

_I am born in ashes, forged in destruction, raised in ruin, alone in death._

_..._

_._

_fin._

 

**Author's Note:**

> призрак- ghost  
> 蜃景- mirage  
> Draugen- draugr/draug/draugur/dreygur/draugen, aka aptrganga is an undead creature from Norse mythology.


End file.
